ings against me already! So I have given it up. Why
should I go on singing, now? He does not care any more. When he has
once heard you he will never want to come again and sit in the middle
of the theatre all alone in the audience just to hear me, as he often
did. Then I sang my best. I never sang as I have sung for him, when I
have caught sight of his face in the audience. No, not for kings. I
used to go and look through the curtain before it went up, if I thought
he was there. And it was just to hear me that he came, just for the
artistic pleasure! He never came to my dressing-room, for that
destroyed the illusion. But now he will go and hear you, and it would
make him very bitter against me if any one said I sang better. Do you
understand?'

'Yes. I understand.'

Margaret bent her head a little and looked down, wondering and puzzled,
yet believing.

'At least I can do that for him.' Madame Bonanni sighed, looking into
the glass again. 'I cannot undo my life, but I need not seem to him to
be a hindrance in yours.'

It was impossible to receive such a confidence without being deeply
touched, and Margaret's own voice shook a little as she answered.

'There have not been many mothers like you since the world began,' she
said.

'I will tell you!' The singer turned half round in her chair with one
of her sudden movements. 'If I had known that I was going to be so fond
of him--and oh, my dear, if I could have guessed that he would care so
much!--I would have led a different life! I would have left the stage
if I could not. Oh, don't think it is so easy to be good! But it's
possible! One can--one could, if one only knew--for the sake of some
one whom one loves very dearly!'

'Of course it is!' answered Margaret, with all the heavenly
self-confidence of untried virtue.

Madame Bonanni looked at her with a peculiar expression. There was a
little pity in the look, and great doubt, a shade of amusement,
perhaps, and a great longing envy through it all.

'Of course?' she repeated, in a thoughtful way. 'Did you mean "of
course it is possible--and easy," my dear? The tone of your voice made
me think that was what you meant. Yes--you meant that, and you have a
right to mean it, but you don't know. That's the great difference--you
don't know! You haven't begun as I did. You're a lady, a real lady,
brought up amongst ladies from your childhood. But that's not what will
keep you good! It's not your refinement, nor your good